


one more troubled soul

by Crydamoure



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Gen, fire!hans, possible iceburns, rest of characters will be added as they finally appear!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1228621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crydamoure/pseuds/Crydamoure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fire stopped burning him a long time ago. </p><p>But he wished this wasn’t true. </p><p>[Fire!Hans story. Post-Frozen. Focused mainly on him for now]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I have been inspired by the numerous art of fireverse Hans, but I haven't read any official fandom guidelines about this AU, so I'm really sorry if I'm making some serious transgression here!! 
> 
> And I wish to apologize in advance - English is not my native language.

It burns and it burns, it keeps gnawing at your bones and sears your flesh, makes your skin pop and your hands cover with blisters, but the flame never stops, no, it feels good here, it feels like home within the layers of your body, coursing through your veins, making your royal blood boil. You want to scream, but the yell evaporates from your dry throat. Convulsing on the slimy stone floor, rolling in the scraps of burned uniform you barely look like a prince, not even like a human being. The flames devouring your body crackle affectionately. Like a purring beast that took sick pleasure in opening wounds, revealing your burned flesh and closing them.

You try to focus your thoughts, try to ignore the burning hell that was unleashed upon your tortured body, you desperately try to make sense of what happened to cause this anguish, to cause this torture. You come up with nothing, nothing but smoke filling your nostrils and you want to vomit knowing that it’s the smell of your flesh burning that makes you gag. The moon laughs at you from behind the prison bars as you finally hear human voices, calling for help, summoning guards. You manage to croak weakly—a plea for help, end this all, kill me –and suddenly cold water is thrown upon your thrashing body, the fire dying away slowly. With a gasp you look up to see the terrified faces of your prison guards and even a maid who just happened to be walking by your cell. Your chest is raising up and down in a frantic attempt to calm yourself down—but how can you calm down? How does one calm down after suddenly bursting into flames? Your head drops back, hitting the prison floor, depriving you of unnecessary consciousness.

_Happy Birthday, Hans._

_Happy Birthday._

 

* * *

 

 

It was all a haze filled with smoke after that night. His brothers flocked to his prison cell, staring at him for the first time in his life with something more that annoyance or disgust. It was fear. He slowly pieced together their hushed and worried words: “ _Curse of the line… Thirteenth son… Well, nobody expected that dad would have this many children… Forgotten… I always knew something was up with his ginger hair… Waiting till his coming of age… We all forgot…_”

They all forgot, he repeated in his head once the last pair of his royal siblings left him alone in wet and slimy cell. A single, clear drop from the ceiling hit his naked shoulder and hissed, turning into fickle vapor and escaping through the bars. He wished he could do the same.

Physicians from all parts of the world came to him, but they wouldn’t dare to come close. He just stared at them lifelessly, wrapped around in a smoking blanket, fire in his gut, smoke in his eyes and despair in his heart. They avoided his listless gaze as they commented on his burning wounds, occasional flame licking his hands, ugly gashes on his chest. Their visits were always the same. Quick movements of a quill, few remarks there and there— _magic, curse, unexplainable, mystery, the prophecy was true, trolls?_ – until finally one of them gathered up courage, placed his hand on the handle and pushed the doors open. A burst of scared and terrified flame would always shoo them away with a hiss and Hans would scream, covering his face with searing hands.

The fire stopped burning him a long time ago.

But he wished it wasn’t true.

He was finally 18 and a month old, when he stood up for the first time since his fateful birthday. His shaky hands clutched at the blanket that was now serving as his only cover, because all of his clothes burned and withered away when they touched his skin. Food tasted like ash, air smelled like smoke and he was constantly thirsty, but too tired to act, too tired to beg for water that would evaporate the second it reached his lips.

But he could take it no more. He was Hans, the prince of the Southern Isles and he could no longer sit here and wait. Answers—he needed answers, he had to know what happened to him, what causes his bones to burn and his hands to envelop in flames. Slowly walking up to the window, he grabbed the iron bars, looking at the green hills surrounding their wonderful castle. The sun was shining, smarting his poor eyes that were so adjusted to the darkness of his damp prison. Summer air caused a small sigh to escape his lips as he admired the freedom that he couldn’t have.

All hope was lost for him now. He knew that his tormentors—brothers, family -–would let him go eventually. True, he made a fool of himself and his kingdom. They also didn’t take kindly to those who had too much of ambition. But killing a prince would certainly harm the kingdom's reputation, so once he was exiled from Arendelle, he ended up here in this cell for two months already. Hans knew that his brothers were more amused than annoyed at him. Once they would have decided that he learned his lesson, here in the mud and dripping stones, they would let him go and mock him till the end of his days.

But things were different now. There was a fire in his veins, devouring him from inside and yet he could never sate it. Why did it have to happen? Now he was a danger—screaming guard, his face was melting off, that awful stench, those flames that just wouldn’t leave him alone –-and a danger has to be locked away. No, he was something more than a danger, he mused staring at the lazy cat soaking up the sunlight while napping on the castle’s wall. He was a ** _scandal_**.

A sudden sizzling noise brought him back to the reality. With a gasp, he let go of the iron bars that began to shine with a sick, orange glow. Just a mere touch… His lips involuntarily stretched in a smirk. Well, not all hope was lost for Prince Hans, so it would seem. He brushed the shining, almost melting bars and with an astonishment, unable to feel the heat that made them glow so. His excited gaze turned to a much bigger set of bars that separated him from the cold corridor of his dungeon. He should try—he can run away, it’s been a month, maybe this curse that got him here can actually help him out, _it’s been a month_ , then he can run away, get on a ship, sail away, **_it’s been a month_** … In a desperate leap, he stumbled towards the other set of bars. Please, please, it’s been a month, he pleaded the fire in his hands that slowly sprawled out and consumed his palms. It flickered weakly, as if it was just waking up from its merciless slumber. The sight of his burning hands made his stomach twist in disgust, but who was he not to take up on this chance of freedom?

“It’s even hotter in here.”

“Mmm.”

Voices that echoed down his corridor made him lose his concentration, the fire died away with a sizzle. Cursing at it—useless, why are you even here, why do I have to withstand your torture if it gives me no gain? –he stepped away from the bars, wrapping himself tighter with the sheets.

“Oh look, he’s not wallowing in his self pity on the floor.” Noted Nikolaus, the eight in the line of succession.

“What a change.” Agreed Anders, the seventh in the line of succession.

“What do you two want?” Snapped Hans, the thirteenth in the line of succession.

Two blonde males reluctantly stepped away, when a blast of heat hit their faces like a cruel whip. They looked almost the same, with their lanky figures, thin lips and narrowed eyes that seemed to try their best to mock him-- but Hans could feel it, he could _sense_ it: they were afraid and they hated him for it. To be afraid of the little brother that they used to torment. Oh, how silly the fate could be.

“Calm down, brother, we simply came to bring you the news about your final fate.”  Nikolaus shrugged, brushing off some imaginary dust on his arm.

“Final fate?” He repeated dumbfounded. Wasn’t he… to remain here?

_He was losing control of his fate._

“Why yes. Well, I see no point in hiding this from you any longer!” Anders nodded lively with a beaming smile. “You are to be executed for the good of our kingdom!”

For the first time since his birthday, he felt cold. He felt like he swallowed an entire iceberg when the vision of death suddenly appeared in his glorious and cunning plans. They couldn’t do this to him… not when he discovered this possibility of escape… They—family, brothers – couldn’t do that to him! But it was not an angry roar that escaped his lips, but a meek question:

“Why? What have I done?” Ash on his tongue, disbelief in his words.

“You mean like apart from setting few men on fire and scarring countless others?” His brothers both shook their heads at the same time, as Anders continued: “Apart from wasting castle’s resources on those pitiful covers of yours? Well, there is also this eternal summer that you and your freakish condition brought about!” His voice rose with every word, a furious crescendo of accusation that made Hans’ head spin.

“What summer…?” It was miserable—his sharp tongue was no more, he was forced to repeat their words like a confused child that he was.

“I guess he can’t tell in here.” Nikolaus looked at exasperated Anders. Turning to Hans, he pointed at him and added: “Ever since you decided to be such a pain in the ass and got yourself cursed, it’s getting hotter every day. For over a month, the sun is just flat our **burning** us, it’s becoming unbearable!”

Hans’ gaze suddenly noticed the glistening beads of sweat on their foreheads, how little cloth they were wearing, exposing sickly red skin. His head turned on its own to the window, staring at the sun that was shining with impossible clarity. But he felt no heat, he just felt the cold of betrayal and spiteful glances of his brothers. Were they telling the truth?

“Our crops are dying, rivers are nothing but mud and people can’t work in this heat. So, we all reached an agreement, all twelve of us—“

“—you have to die, so that the kingdom can live on.” Finished Anders, nodding at his words.

“How is this fair?!” Hans finally snapped out of his confusion, grabbing the bars that were the only barrier between him and his deceitful brothers. Anders and Nikolaus stepped back instinctively, a wild spark of fear clearly visible in their eyes for a short while. “I can’t control this, this isn’t my fault, you can’t do this to me!” He roared, grabbing the metal tighter. Familiar sizzling reached his ears, sounding almost like pleased purring of a beast. Their eyes darted to his hands, before they looked up to him.

“True, it’s more of a father’s fault than yours, but unfortunately, he’s been assassinated years ago, but you should know that already, after all, weren’t you the one behind this?” Anders again glanced at his hands that were now surrounded by steam.

“No, it was Randolf and you know it, you were the one conspiring with him!” Hans scoffed, fire slowly dripping from his fingers, as Nikolaus elbowed Anders worryingly.

“Whatever!” Anders retorted with royal eloquence, as he took another step back. “What matters is that you are nothing but a nuisance to us all! Nothing but a pathetic bootlicker, begging for attention on every step!” They were both fuming, glaring at each other with trembling Nikolaus between them. “Oh, ‘Brothers, please play with me!’” Anders mimicked a voice of a child, repeating the plea that Hans knew all too well. “And now you’re not only annoying, you’re **harmful**! Father was right to push you away,  you—“

Anders never got to finish his creative insult. The bars snapped in two, melting away in a gray puddle as Hans lunged towards him, his arms engulfed by flames. His brother managed to yelp as burning hands grabbed his vest, setting fire to it. They were both on the floor, Hans preparing to strike again—poke his eyes out, rip out his tongue –and Anders yelling in anguish as the flames were now consuming his chest, searing his sensitive, royal skin. Nikolaus was just standing there with dumbfounded smile, clearly confused, but unable to act in any other way. Hans almost wanted to yell at him—stop me, you idiot, don’t just stand there, I can’t stop burning, I just want this all to stop, I never asked for the curse, I did some bad things, but please, just stop me now –but a wild swipe of Anders’ fist knocked him away.

Smell of burnt flesh filled the air and soft weeping broke the stunned silence. Anders was crying.

Hans pressed the remains of the blanket to himself, like a child that wakes up in the middle of a nightmare.  He watched Anders touch his new wounds and flinch when fingers brushed the blisters. As if nothing happened, Nikolaus began to haul him away, with that dumb smile on his face and Hans was finally left alone.

_**Free.** _

This was his occasion, he realized, as he stood up shaking. Guilt made his stomach twist and his fire disappeared with a sick hiss, leaving only vile smoke behind. No, no, they were his captors, they deserved whatever pain he made him feel—it was probably nothing compared to that fateful birthday night. Yes, his doubts were replaced with burning determination. He grabbed another blanket, wrapping it around himself like a cloak and started running like a madman, dashing towards the light at the end of a dark corridor.

Navigating the dungeon was something like a delirious dream, with every nook and turn looking the same and yet he found his way to the courtyard, scaring the barely breathing horses and servants that all dropped whatever they were carrying and scurried away. Word of his curse must have gotten around, he mused, as he craned his neck to look at the sun again. The sunrays pleasantly tickled his face, but the grass that crunched under his feet was confirming the words of his brothers. The heat was _killing_ this country. Hearing the clank of rushing guards, he darted towards open gates, heading towards the stables. No curse and no family will ever keep him down, ** him**—Hans of the Southern Isles! Not when he still had control over his destiny, nothing thwarts his plans, this is just a minor setback, he’s worthy of that throne, only him, _nobody else_. Panting and gasping, he reached the royal stables, opening the doors with a loud clang.

“Sitron!” He yelled, spooking nearby horses. Terrified whining deafened him for a while, as he desperately clutched at his makeshift cloak, trying to spot his trusty steed. They just need to ride, ride away, return when he comes up with another plan… Finally distinguishing his friend from countless other animals, Hans ran up to him. The horse looked at him with disbelief as if he never expected to see him again.

“We need to go, now!” Hans grabbed the leather straps and yanked them, prompting the stallion into following him to the exit. There was no time to grab a saddle, all they could do now is ride towards that sun and escape the kingdom. Ignoring Sitron's clear fear and his mangled fur that was covered in sweat, he grabbed onto the long neck and climbed on his back. Finally, something was going right for once, Prince Hans smiled to himself. Only to yell in surprise a moment later.

Something was wrong, something was _**terribly**_ wrong.  Sitron began thrashing wildly, unable to keep still and neighing desperately.

“Whoa, whoa, easy, boy!” Hans hissed through his teeth, he had no time to play his dumb games, not when he could hear the guards slowly approaching them. Sitron only neighed louder, this time in pain, as he started to flail about with Hans clutching onto his mane in a desperate attempt to hold on. “Sitron! Calm down, we need to run, I need to—“

He was interrupted by another long whine and a disgusting smell reached his nostrils again. Oh no, he thought miserably as he realized his mistake. Oh no. Oh no. Oh nononononono—He looked down, noticing long, red stripes that now covered Sitron’s side. He was burning him, his mere touch was burning him… Hans let out a small, anguished yell, sliding off the stallion and searing more of his body in the process. Sitron whined again and collapsed, thrashing wildly on the ground, still in enormous pain. The blisters were popping with a sickening sound and it was too late, too late to stop everything, he did this, his only friend, why didn't anybody stop him? The prince fell to his knees, staring into the big, betrayed eye of his steed. He hurt his only friend in this entire kingdom. His touch was nothing but pain and he could do nothing but destroy. The guards already surrounded them, pointing their halberds at him, too afraid to intervene. Hans did and could do nothing. Nothing to ease his pain, nothing to help him. Sitron was still wailing, unable to bear the searing pain that his master gifted him.

The fire that drilled his bones and melted him from the inside slowly died, extinguished by extreme shame. He never meant for this to happen. Somebody placed a hand on his shoulder and recoiled with a hiss. Hans blinked, watching Sitron get up and gallop away towards the ocean, foam forming at the corners of his mouth and the rest of his mane falling off.

He’s not in control.

He never was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, the first chapter is done! I wasn't going to go into this much detail of describing the beginning of the curse, but welp, it happened somehow. I hope you guys enjoyed the read - the next chapter might be even more angstier, but I will eventually bring him over to Arendelle to meet up with the rest of the gang. 
> 
> The main theme of the story is coping with the curse and therefore undergoing some personality change. And possible iceburns.
> 
> Haha.
> 
> THANKS FOR READING, YOU WONDERFUL PERSON YOU.


	2. banishment

At the end of the week, Hans felt like he could give lectures on how to kill a broken man whose soul was on fire.

You do not drown him in a golden cauldron in the middle of the palace courtyard, he would start the lesson in this way, mocking his students with an experienced gaze. Yes, it may seem like the most logical way to execute somebody who seems to be drawing the sun closer to earth with each day, but that doesn’t work. No matter how tightly you bind him in chains and a burlap sack, it just won’t work. A burning man will touch the surface, he will let out a bloodcurdling shriek and disappear under the water for what will seem like an eternity. But then it will start to boil. Thick vapor will envelop the entire courtyard, servants will start to whisper worryingly and then the cauldron itself will start to melt. And when everyone will be screaming and running away from the molten mass, the burning man will emerge, gasping for air, shivering and shuddering – but alive.

You can’t just strike him with a sword, for the iron will start melting before it even touches his neck. Deceitful flame will devour the blade whole and then jump on the trembling arm that was holding it and screams for help will fill the air. This will give the prisoner a good chance to lift his weary head and glare at the whispering and negotiating brothers with his bloodshot eyes. After that challenging stare, the efforts to kill a man who is cursed to burn forever will double. But all arrows will turn to ash before they reach him. You can’t starve him down, because the vile flame inside his stomach somehow keeps him alive. Poison dries before it taints his tongue.

No, you can’t kill a burning man, even if he wants to perish already, Hans would finish his lecture and bow down graciously, receiving a deafening applause.

But this was no grand lecture hall, this was his prison cell. And he didn’t feel like saying a word to anyone ever again.

 Hans, the Prince of the Southern Isles, was tired. Tired of dying every day and tired of the relentless flame that made him hollow and empty inside. But despite his hatred towards the hissing element, it did keep him alive for some reason. Probably to torment him more. How the mighty fall, he mused, still hearing the panicked whine of Sitron echoing in his head. Every step of his life was planned in an excruciating detail – marry a princess, become a king, raid Southern Isles, be a ruler that you were meant to be, show them all how wrong they were – but he couldn’t  have predicted this. He looked down on his hands and the flames lazily appeared, engulfing them. The broken prince shuddered at the unnatural sight. It was terrible, it was awful, for a person like him to be cursed with something that was uncontrollable. And, of course, he couldn’t help but to think of the Snow Queen from Arendelle. A scowl of disgust twisted his features as he slammed burning hands on the cold prison floor. Was he… really the same? The same freak of nature, a slave to the whims of _magic_? The mere thought of them being alike made the fire spread gleefully from his hands to wrists and forearms. Disgusting, uncontrollable—it did not suit him. The wild flames that heeded no call were of no use to him.

“A hindrance!” He spat viciously, but the fire did not listen to his enraged words and continued to lick his body. How can he become a king now? With every subject afraid of what he may or may not do? Feared, but not loved – this Hans could not accept. This wasn’t his goal, he aimed to become a perfect ruler, a monarch that is respected and adored by everyone. Not a filthy prison rat, huddled in a corner of a slimy cell. No, he was supposed to be in Arendelle, sitting on that frozen throne and gathering a mighty army for his future conquests. Embracing his knees, he slowly closed tired eyes, unable to withstand the sight of his prison and reality no more. The wicked flame fueled by his despair consumed his body, the only source of light in the cell. A freak, a monster—melting face, whining horse, Anders’ weeping –a complete and utter loser. He didn’t plan this, he didn’t want this.

Not at all.

He fell asleep, listening to crackle of flames that sounded like a mocking laughter in his ears.

 

* * *

 

 

“Aaaaand… locked!”

“Are you sure this will hold?”

“Your Majesty, I’m positive! No mythical condition can win with the laws of physics, this I guarantee!”

Hans rolled on his back, muttering something groggily. The muffled voices woke him up from his exhausting dream that made him toss and turn as if he was possessed. His neck was bent at a weird angle that made his poor muscles sting painfully. Stretching out exhausted body, his hand hit the wall that wasn’t supposed to be there. He immediately rose, eyes open wide in terror, but he couldn’t see anything – just darkness. The prince clumsily smacked himself, making sure that he did lift his eyelids. There was nothing but a black void in front of him. Blindly, his arms stretched out, stumbling upon a cold metal surface that confined the young prince now.

“What…?” He whispered in shock, realizing that somebody dragged him from his cell, closed in this small box and even dressed him up in some rough leather garments that scratched his skin painfully. Was this a new execution attempt? Hans grunted, banging on the wall with his elbow. He did not take kindly to anything that was out of his control.

“Oh, he’s awake now, your Majesty.” The muffled voice that most likely belonged to an old man reported hastily.

Your Majesty…? Hans banged even louder, the darkness and stuffy air of the metal trap getting on his nerves already.

“RANDOLF! RANDOLF, LET ME OUT!” He yelled, deducing without a fail who was responsible for the newest form of torture. The King of Southern Isles himself, his oldest brother. Hans’ stomach twisted in disgust, if he could just get his hands on that vile rat, that conspiring backstabber… Closing him in some metal box, his own brother…! “LET ME OUT OR I SWEAR—“

“What? Swear what, my little brother?” Randolf’s voice was smooth as if his words were lined with silk. Hans could barely hear him through the solid lead walls that separated them, but he could envision perfectly Randolf’s bearded face smiling calmly and his prideful figure walking circles around the dark cage. “That you will burn down this kingdom and devour the ashes?”

“What?” Such poetic phrase did not suit his arrogant brother. No, that didn’t matter, Hans shook his head, collecting his thoughts. Slamming his fist on the wall, he decided to go along with the proposed scenario. If he was presented a weapon, why not take it? “I just might do that and you know it!” He hissed through his teeth. No, of course he couldn’t do that. Not with the pathetic lack of control over his curse. Besides, what good would that give him? A king of scorched wasteland is no king at all.

“Taking advantage of the situation, are we? Thinking that we can gamble and negotiate, are we?” His brother’s tone was calm like the summer sky, but underneath the velvet tone Hans could sense pure contempt. So the curse changed nothing then. “I’m sorry, Hans, but you know you can’t outmaneuver me. Nobody can.”

Oh, fuck you, Hans spat mentally, banging some more on the walls. Your pride is going to be your downfall one day and I will be there.

“So go ahead, little brother! Smite me down with your righteous fire.” This was all a game to his dear King.  Hans, for the first time in over a month, was glad that he now can cause pain to that wretched deceiver, whose greatest sin was having more authority that he. Though he couldn’t see his hands, he stared down expectedly, waiting for them to suddenly combust and smart his eyes with an orange shine. But nothing was happening, despite the burning rage within him. His eyes opened even wider, he was certain that those cursed flames were linked to his anger so why won’t his hands burn? In desperation, he joined them together with a clap, still expecting them to catch fire any second. His jaw tightened and he ground his teeth together. Of course, it’s not listening now, when he needs it! He can’t control his fate, he can’t control this flame, useless, this wasn’t like him.

Hans snapped his head in the direction of a sudden laughter, hitting the metal plate with the side of his forehead. “I told you, Your Highness. It’s working!” The old man cackled with pride and Randolf hummed with approbation. So they did something…

“What did you do… did… did you cure me?” He panted, still rubbing the sore spot. A sudden glimmer of hope appeared in his tone and Randolf laughed at it with satisfaction.  

“No, little brother, I’m afraid that what the father has done cannot be fixed. At least not quick enough. We must act quite fast if we want to salvage the crops…” His Majesty knocked on his cage gracefully, taunting the monster inside. “We took some safety precautions and we are sending you away, brother. You should be happy, no? You always enjoyed long trips…”

“What?” Hans managed to choke out, clinging to the cold—cold? – wall and pressing his face against it, desperate not to lose a single word. “You’re not going to kill me? Why? Gone soft on your little brother?” He could feel his lips stretch in a smug smirk, as his tone smoothly took on Randolf’s disdainful manner of speech.

Randolf clicked his tongue and probably shook his head as well, hearing Hans’ jab.

“Well, there is a theory that your death would only speed up the process of… our kingdom being burned completely, so we are not going to test it out… Oddvar, will you?”

“Certainly, sir!” The old man cleared his throat. Hans rolled his eyes in exasperation, that fossil sounded just like one of his old teachers that used to torment him with useless lectures when he was younger. Turning in his metal coffin, he sighed and immediately regretted that decision. Air inside this trap was scarce and this was already making him pant uneasily. “You see, young Prince, we have established that the origins of your curse lay in magic.” Well, that much he knew. Still, Hans was listening keenly – he would have to be a total ignorant to discard any piece of information that was offered to him. “It seems that your presence affects the temperature around us, but surprisingly only here, in our kingdom. Which corresponds with the prophecy…”

“Wait, what prophecy?” Hans sneered, feeling his chest rise up and down frantically. His uneven breathing was adding to the stuffy atmosphere of the cage, he would kill for some fresh air…

“That doesn’t concern you.” Randolf interrupted the lecture urgently. “What you need to know is that you are being send away, so that our Kingdom can recover from this cruel summer. And you will never return, Hans.”

“Yeah, good luck with getting me on a wooden ship!” His little brother sneered in response, stubbornly kicking the black wall. “You can’t be this stupid, Randolf!”

The flames would not bend to his will, but he was certain that they will show up at one point. And then, this cage will just melt, the fire will spread and all that will be left of their journey will be the charred skeletons at the bottom of the sea. Surely his oldest brother knew that… He was the brightest out of that miserable bunch, but even he held no candle to Hans’ cunning mind.

A short moment of silence. Hans could sense his brother fuming and he chuckled darkly. Nobody dared to disrespect King’s intellect, nobody but the broken prince trapped inside a metal coffin.

“Actually, young prince, we have thought of something. You see, no fire can burn when there is no air.” Oddvar’s croaky tone broke the silence. Hans’ little smirk melted away, as his eyes darted around his cage. No… air? No windows, no holes—no air… “Of course, you are not completely cut off from it, you will get just enough to survive, I hope. But it shouldn’t be able to sustain those flames of yours, from what we have gathered, they require a lot of energy…”

It was Randolf’s turn to laugh haughtily.

“I told you, Hans, nobody can outsmart me.” Reminded him the King. “Not even the elves, not even magic itself, nothing and nobody.”

Air. No air.

“Goodbye, little brother. Your journey starts today! You are going to see so many new countries on your way to the end of the world! Well, not really, since you’re not leaving this clever contraption…” Randolf’s sarcastic voice was barely audible as his own panting filled the cage. Never… leaving? No light, no air. A bell rang in the distance and suddenly his cage was moving, pulled by something towards the sound of the clashing waves. Hans let out a guttural whine, snapping out of the shock. Kicking the wall again, he yelled:

“RANDOLF, WAIT!”

His wheeled coffin stopped and he heard his brother sigh, while approaching him.

“Make it quick, Hans. You don’t even know how much damage you’ve done to this kingdom, somebody has to fix it…”

“Sitron, what about Sitron?” Hans felt his lips move on their own, uttering a desperate plea for information, why was he doing this, Sitron wasn’t important now, he wasn’t part of the plan now, why does he care?

 “Sitron?” Randolf repeated confused, clearly not recognizing the name.

“His horse, Your Majesty.” Oddvar reminded him hastily.

Yes, my horse. My friend.

“Ah. Well, I have no idea what happened to it. It’s not like we searched, we had much more pressing matters on our hands… Like getting rid of you.” Randolf’s nonchalant tone made Hans’ blood boil, few sparks danced around his trembling fingers.

A bell rang again, his cage jumped up and down, rolling on the creaking planks.

“HIS MAJESTY’S SHIP SAILING AWAY!” Boomed a voice next to him. “DESTINATION: ARENDELLE!”

No, no, no, no, no, no—he started banging on the merciless walls, each punch costing him his precious air, making his skin cover in sweat. No – thud! – no – thud! – no – thud – no… His fist slipped, missing the wall. He had no strength left, no air in his lungs, no power to fight the fate.

Hans’ closed his eyes, venting hoarsely, burning tears mixed with the sweat on his tired face.

How was this fair, he asked the cold walls, as the ship set sail towards his bane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, another chapter. This was actually going to be slightly longer, I even planned to introduce another side character (more like another tormentor), but I felt that splitting it would make it more readable. 
> 
> So yes, Arendelle! I promise, somebody familiar will finally show up! 
> 
> THANKS FOR READING uwu (and sorry for any potential mistakes, it's really late, I will have to reread it in the morning)


End file.
